


Euclidean Geometry

by Luthien



Series: Works on a Grecian Theme [2]
Category: Friday's Child - Georgette Heyer, HEYER Georgette - Works
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Geometry, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Missing Scene, POV Outsider, Post-Canon, Romance, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28581435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/pseuds/Luthien
Summary: How would such a thing work? Howdidit work?Hero finds herself wondering about the exact nature of what lies between Gil and Ferdy.
Relationships: Anthony "Sherry" Sheringham/Hero Wantage, Gil Ringwood/Ferdy Fakenham
Series: Works on a Grecian Theme [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094207
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	Euclidean Geometry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afterism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterism/gifts), [Samirant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samirant/gifts), [Damerel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damerel/gifts).



> A companion piece to That Greek Thing, set during the two weeks that passed between the penultimate and final scenes of that story.
> 
> This story is for afterism, whose lovely Yuletide prompts set me on this path, for Sami who travelled the path with me, and for Damerel, who has walked beside me for longer than anyone.

Hero did not mean to intrude on Gil's and Ferdy's privacy. It was, truly, the farthest thing from her mind as she returned from the nursery some time after dinner on Christmas Day. She had just looked in on little Charlotte, and provided her with her mid-evening meal—the dowager having been only too happy to deputise for her daughter-in-law as hostess in the drawing room for as long as Hero should be absent—and had then spent a good deal longer than she had intended in 'looking at baby', a pastime that occupied Hero each day rather more than she had expected that it would. She had, at last, wrenched herself from her daughter's side, however, and now she made her way along the corridor in the east wing, which housed the main guest quarters.

She had some thought of checking on both Ferdy and Gil, for Gil had yet to leave Ferdy's side, and Hero had had dinner sent up to them on trays, though doubtless Ferdy had eaten very little. However, as she approached the gentlemen's bedchambers—which sat side by side with a connecting door between them, a detail which now made rather more sense to her than it had when Sherry had first ensured that these particular rooms were given to Gil and Ferdy for the duration of their stay at Sheringham Place—she could not fail to notice that the door to Ferdy's room lay open, and a dim light emanated from inside. Fearing that something was amiss—she would not soon, or ever, forget the shocking sight of Ferdy, insensible and limp, being carried into the house after the carriage accident earlier in the day—Hero stopped in the doorway and glanced into the room.

She saw immediately that her fears were quite unfounded, for Mr Fakenham was tucked up in bed—and beside him on top of the covers, lying back against the pillows minus coat, boots and cravat, but otherwise fully clothed, was Gil.

They were both fast asleep.

The single candle by the bed had not provided enough light to keep either of them awake after the exhausting events of the day that now, fortunately, lay behind them.

The picture they presented was somehow very much more intimate than a first glimpse of them might suggest, however. Gil's left arm encircled Ferdy's shoulders, holding Ferdy close against his side, while Ferdy's head lay upon Mr Ringwood's shoulder, as if it were a most comfortable pillow, and his uninjured arm had been slung, in an unmistakably possessive gesture, across Gil's chest.

Hero was assailed with a sudden vision of… well, something that made her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment at the very thought, for one did not wish to consider such intimate acts in relation to one's friends. At the same time, she felt most frustrated at the limits set by her own imagination, for she could not quite comprehend how such a thing would work, though there could be no doubt that, at least for Gil and Ferdy, it did indeed work, and to their mutual satisfaction.

Hero shook her head, as if the action might banish her unwelcome thoughts, and, stepping into the room, went over to Mr Ringwood and gently shook him awake.

Gil blinked blearily, and then his eyes went wide before blinking some more and finally focusing properly on Hero.

"Perhaps you should get ready for bed, so that you may be comfortable," Hero suggested in a low voice, so as not to disturb Ferdy, who continued to slumber beside Gil.

For some reason, Gil's lips twisted into a slight grimace at her words. "Comfortable," he repeated. "As I have learnt today, there is such a thing as being rather too comfortable." But he looked up at her and smiled then, quite taking the sting out of his words. "You are very right, though, Kitten. I cannot stay like this all night." He proceeded to extricate himself from Ferdy most carefully, first removing his arm from about Ferdy's shoulders and then laying Ferdy's head, very gently, against the pillow. Ferdy did not stir. Gil swung his legs over the side of the bed and, stopping to stretch a moment first, got to his feet.

"I am sorry I did not knock," Hero said, "but the door was open and I worried that…" She shrugged in mute explanation.

Gil nodded. "Just as well that you did. It would not do if…" His words trailed off, but their eyes met in a look of complete understanding. "Throwley was here a moment ago. Was just going off to brew some old wives remedy of his mother's which would, he assured me, help Ferdy to sleep more _comfortably_." His lips twisted again, a little, on the final word. "He must have left the door open."

"How has Ferdy been this last while?" Hero asked. "Everyone is most concerned for him, and they will ask after him, you know, as soon as they discover that I have been up to see how he does."

"He woke, some little time ago, and I think—I know—he was in better spirits before he fell asleep again, though still in rather more pain than he was willing to admit to," Gil said. He smiled, in a way that told Hero most clearly that he and Ferdy had said what had most needed to be said to each other, but still some of the anguish from earlier in the day remained in his eyes as he spoke of Ferdy's suffering pain.

Hero suspected that it would take Gil longer to get over his own pain and regret than it would for Ferdy to recover from his injuries.

The connecting door to Gil's bedchamber opened then, and Chilham entered the room. A nightshirt and dressing-gown were laid carefully over his arm. He stopped in his tracks as his eyes fell on Hero, but then he pulled himself up even straighter than before, if that were possible, and, bowing first to Hero, turned to Gil and said, in most dignified tones, "Your nightclothes, sir. I will, of course, lay them out in your own bedchamber directly."

"Thank you, Chilham," Gil said, while Hero hid her smile. Chilham was truly a prince amongst valets, if there had yet been any doubt remaining after his assistance at various small but crucial points during the memorable events of the previous year.

"I will bid you good night now," Hero said, "and allow you both to get some sleep. I will be back in the morning to look in on Ferdy, though."

"I would expect no less," Gil assured her, pressing her hand warmly. He then wished her a good night in turn, and Hero took her leave, closing the door to the bedchamber firmly behind her as she departed.

She hastened downstairs to return to her other guests, but her thoughts remained fixed on those she had left upstairs a moment ago, and her cheeks were flushed and pink as she made her way at last to the drawing room.

How would such a thing work? How _did_ it work?

Hero rather suspected that she would never receive a satisfactory answer to the questions that even she knew propriety forbade her ever from asking.

Sighing just a little, she opened the drawing room door and, by the time she stepped through the doorway to join her husband and her guests, there was a genuine smile upon her lips.

~*~

Ferdy's recovery was rapid, and he came downstairs again two days after Christmas—somewhat to Gil's consternation, for Mr Ringwood was of the view that Ferdy should convalesce in bed a while longer. However, the two of them kept mostly to the house, and there was no suggestion by anyone—least of all Mr Ringwood himself—that he should leave Ferdy's side long enough to resume his daily rides with Sherry's cousin Andrew. It was not until several days later, as the cold snap that had arrived on Christmas Day came to an end—and the year was drawing rapidly to a close—that they at last ventured outside for a stroll by the lake.

The first Hero knew of this was when she came in search of Ferdy and Gil in the Blue Saloon a while after breakfast, and instead found Andrew. He sat beneath a window looking out towards the lake, on a sofa with a collection of books and papers strewn before him along its length.

"I will be back at Oxford for the Hilary term soon. I must study at least a little before then," he explained, when Hero asked what he was about.

She nodded. "Have you seen Gil and Ferdy at all? I thought to find them here."

"Yes," Andrew said, his mouth quirking a little wistfully. "They have gone out for a walk." _And not invited me_ he did not say, but Hero understood quite clearly just the same.

"Ferdy is in need of Gil's company and support right now as he recovers from his injuries. They are such very dear friends," she explained, trying to soften the blow that the young man had clearly felt at his exclusion.

"I understand," Andrew said, but as she observed the puzzled, slightly hurt expression in his blue eyes, Hero was as sure as she could be that he did not. They were much of an age, she and Andrew, but in that moment she felt herself to be immeasurably older. She had learnt much about the world and its workings—of what lay beneath the surface that people showed the world, which she had once believed to constitute the only truth—in the year and more since she had married Sherry.

"Tell me about whatever it is that you are studying," Hero said impulsively, regretting the request before the words had finished leaving her mouth when she saw the light of enthusiasm kindle in Andrew's eyes. He must be bored indeed, poor boy, just as Sherry had observed to her a few days previously.

"Geometry," he said, waving his hand at a sheaf of papers by his elbow. "Complementary, supplementary and conjugate angles, and the uses to which they may be employed in the physical world."

Hero bit her lip and regarded him somewhat nervously. "I am not bookish," she admitted, "even though at one time it seemed very likely that I should become a governess." She frowned, trying to remember what little instruction in mathematics she had received from the governess that Cousin Jane had employed to educate her own three daughters as well as, grudgingly, Hero herself. "Complementary and supplementary angles are to do with triangles, I think?" she hazarded.

It was Andrew's turn to bite his lip, though it was clear that in his case he was trying to prevent a smile. "Not quite," he said, "though complementary angles indeed may be found within a certain type of triangle. Supplementary angles occur along a straight line, and as for conjugate angles… Well, they add up to a complete whole."

"A… a hole?" Hero asked, mightily confused and aware that she had only herself to blame for asking Andrew the question in the first place.

"Three hundred and sixty degrees—as in an entire circle."

"But there are no angles in a circle," Hero said at once. This much, at least, she was sure of.

"Here, let me show you," Andrew said and, picking up a pencil and paper, he quickly drew two lines meeting at one end—like two sides of a triangle—and then sketched a rather drunken-looking circle around the point they made. "See?" he said. "The part of the circle going around the outside, when added to the angle inside the two straight lines, adds up to three hundred and sixty degrees. It doesn't matter the size of either angle; their sum will always be three hundred and sixty degrees."

Hero nodded, pretending to understand—and then, to her complete surprise, realised that she did understand. "Two things that fit together to form a complete whole," she said slowly. "Yes, I think I understand that. What did you call it again?"

"They are conjugate angles, according to Euclid, the great Ancient Greek mathematician."

"Oh, _Greek_ ," she said, nodding, and then, as a thought occurred to her, she added, "Do not on any account mention him to Ferdy."

"Why not?" Andrew frowned, clearly puzzled.

"He is not fond of Greek things," Hero explained, though obviously Andrew did not consider this explanation enough, for he opened his mouth to speak. "I must go in search of them," she continued quickly. “Did you see in which direction they went?”

“Down the drive and along by the lake,” Andrew said, waving a hand towards the window. “They set out about twenty minutes ago.”

Hero thanked him and, delaying only as long as it took to go upstairs and fetch her bonnet and gloves, and a warm woollen cloak, she set off in search of Mr Ringwood and Mr Fakenham. She could, of course, have sent a footman to find the two gentlemen and deliver her message to them, but Hero rather thought that it might be better if none of the servants—apart from Chilham and Throwley—chanced upon Gil and Ferdy in circumstances in which they believed themselves to be alone together, at least for the time being.

The gravel crunched beneath her feet as she made her way along the driveway a little way, and then took the path off to the left that ran through the park beside the shore of the lake. There was no sign of Gil or Ferdy, but Hero had an idea of where she might find them, and it did not take her long to catch sight of her destination.

As she followed the curve of the lake, the folly known as the Temple of Artemis loomed up in the near distance, just as Capability Brown had intended for it to reveal itself to all who approached from the house when he had laid out the scene some sixty years before. It was surrounded by the skeletal forms of trees that had long since lost their leaves, but glowed a little even in the weak, watery sunlight of the late December day, a haven of honey-coloured stone in the bleak winter landscape.

A pair of the French windows that served as the entrance to the temple stood open, and Hero knew that she had been right in believing that she would find the gentlemen here. She mounted the steps and was about to call out in greeting to let them know that she was there when:

"Darling," someone said huskily, in a voice so low that Hero could not be sure whose it was.

Hero went quite still, but no more words emanated from within, and after a moment her curiosity quite got the better of her. She went up several more stairs, though still did not climb quite to the very top, and peeked into the interior of the temple just long enough to observe a kiss quite as passionate as any display that George and Isabella had ever put on in sight of their friends. Gil and Ferdy were sitting close together on one of the benches that had been set there for the purpose of allowing one to sit and gaze out at the picturesque view—one made famous in several guidebooks to the stately homes of Kent—of the woodlands surrounding the lake. However, the gentlemen's attention was not on the beauties of nature but on considerations rather closer at hand. Gil held Ferdy close against him, with one arm around him much as it had been when Hero had come upon the sight of them on the bed together on Christmas night, while Ferdy was reaching up with his good arm so that his hand cupped the side of Gil's face. Gil's other hand was out of view, lost beneath the carriage rug that covered both gentlemen's legs and-

Hero hastily looked away again.

She waited, counting to ten, and then fifteen, under her breath, both to give Gil and Ferdy a little time to enjoy their kiss and for the heat to leave her cheeks, before she cleared her throat very loudly and trod as heavily as she could upon the top stair. She waited another moment before calling out brightly, "Ah, I have found you at last," and proceeding in through the French windows.

Gil and Ferdy were still side by side on the bench, but they were sitting a little farther apart than a moment ago—almost as far apart as friends might sit if they had stopped here to admire the view. Friends, that was, who were both quite flushed despite the chill of the winter's day, and whose clothing looked more than a little dishevelled. Ferdy's neckcloth was a sad tangle of linen that bore little resemblance to the perfect Osbaldeston tie he had worn about his neck earlier in the day, while the top two buttons of Gil's waistcoat lay undone, and as for the state of his hair… Well, the less said about that, the better.

These days, Hero had some knowledge of the ways in which certain parts of the male anatomy were wont to respond upon receipt of a very passionate kiss—not to mention other forms of more direct attention—and she took care not to glance down at the carriage rug which still, fortunately, covered both gentlemen from waist to boot tops.

"I was, er, _helping_ Ferdy with his…" Gil began by way of explanation, even though Hero had not asked any sort of question.

"Tripped," Ferdy put in. "Might easily have hurt my arm again if not for Gil."

"So I see," Hero said kindly, and if she bit down on a tiny, fond smile, she also did not press them to continue speaking, for she did not take pleasure in anyone's discomfiture, least of all that of two friends who had been so good to her in her own times of trouble. "I came to tell you that Isabella sent over a note earlier informing us that she and George are starting their journey home today, and that they will call here on their way, to bid us all farewell. I thought that you would wish to be present to make your goodbyes."

"Yes indeed," Gil said, and it was clear to Hero that he was grateful for the swift change of subject. He glanced at Ferdy and they exchanged a look that, Hero felt sure, encompassed an entire, silent conversation. "We'll make our way up to the house in just a few minutes, if you do not mind so very much walking back by yourself, Kitten."

"Of course I do not mind. I walked out here quite alone," Hero pointed out. "I will expect you back at the house in the next half an hour, though. Do not delay longer than that if you wish to be sure of speaking with George and Isabella before they are gone."

Gil grinned at her attempt at a stern tone. "I wouldn't dream of it," he said.

"Always make a point of being punctual," Ferdy assured her.

"Very well," Hero said. "I will see you back at the house before very much longer." Smiling a goodbye, she turned and walked back out through the French windows and down the steps of the temple. She did not look back, but she could not fail to hear the conversation, in loud whispers, which began before she had made it to the bottom of the steps, though she could not make out any of the words. It was all too easy to imagine the words they exchanged, in any event; she had no real need to hear them.

She found it far less easy to conceive of either of them lavishing endearments on the other—or anyone—and yet she was sure she had not been mistaken in the word she had heard as she had started up the steps of the temple. But they were in love, were they not? Hero had seen the truth of that on both their faces, more than once. Why should they not express that love in ways…

Her face flamed as her mind raced ahead of her in a direction that it had no business in going—and one with a destination that remained infuriatingly indistinct.

Sighing, Hero turned her feet firmly in the direction of the house and turned her mind just as firmly to the preparations for the dinner to celebrate the new year that she was holding two days hence.

There was much to do without wasting time… wondering.

~*~

Gil and Ferdy did indeed make it back to the house in time to make their goodbyes to Lord and Lady Wrotham, but it was a close-run thing, and Hero sent them both what she hoped was a reproving look as they arrived in the Yellow Saloon—still in the act of removing their greatcoats—some few minutes before George and Isabella took their leave.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, though busily, for Hero was discovering that the life of the lady of a great house was one of constant employment, or, at least, it was if she so chose. And Hero _did_ choose, for she wished to make of herself the very best wife for Sherry that it was possible for her to be.

It was quite late that night when Sherry entered Hero's bedchamber. She was already in bed, but only just. She nodded a dismissal to Maria, who immediately withdrew into the dressing room, and smiled up at Sherry as he came to stand at her bedside.

"Are you come to stay with me?" Hero asked, for he was wearing his nightshirt, and over it a frogged dressing-gown in crimson brocade which had always been a particular favourite of hers.

"Why yes, if you'll have me," he said with a grin.

"Always," Hero said, wasting no time in leaning into his embrace as he sat down beside her on the side of the bed.

He kissed her then, and she kissed him back with great enthusiasm, for she had missed the closeness between the two of them these last months, and not just that of the marital act itself. Sherry had taken the greatest of care of her, both before baby Charlotte had arrived and after, giving everything and demanding nothing—not even asking for anything that was still within Hero's power to bestow upon him, and which she would have given most gladly. Perhaps, knowing that, Sherry had taken care not to ask. Hero could not fault him for that, and yet she had felt at times more like a porcelain figurine than a flesh and blood woman: breakable and lacking in the warmth that only the close physical presence of another living soul—a lover—could provide.

She pressed a little closer and, for the first time since the baby had arrived, felt a few small flames of desire lick up against her insides. Her arms came up around his neck of their own volition as she gasped a little against Sherry's lips and:

"Darling," he murmured, "oh darling, how I have missed you."

However, this loverly ardour did not produce what was no doubt the desired effect. Hero's eyes flew open as realisation struck.

The endearment, the close physical presence of a lover…

Oh, but she had been stupid! It did not matter what part went where, or how, exactly, two bodies aligned, did it? Not _really,_ not in all the ways that truly mattered. Certainly, sometimes, there was one particular act that her body craved, but it was hardly in itself of the greatest importance. It was the closeness that accompanied it, the intimacy that brought their hearts and minds together, that was the most important thing—and more than that: it was the crucial thing, the glue that held them together.

"What is it?" Sherry asked, his dear, familiar blue eyes full of concern for her: his love, his darling, his lover, as well as his wife.

Hero had her answer.

"I was just thinking," she said.

Sherry's eyebrows rose. "Really. And here I had believed that I had driven every thought from your head most thoroughly."

Hero giggled. She couldn't help it. She had missed this easy intimacy between them, the shared laughter as much as all the rest. "I was thinking of… geometry," she said.

Sherry's eyebrows rose even higher, in genuine surprise this time. "I shouldn't have thought that anything could cause you to think of geometry, Kitten, least of all my kisses!" he expostulated.

Hero shook her head. "Silly. It was not your kisses—or not exactly," she said. "I was just thinking back over a conversation I had with Andrew this morning. He was looking over his papers on mathematics in preparation for returning to Oxford."

"I still don't entirely see-" Sherry began.

"He told me of conj- conjugal angles—is that right? The ones that add up together to make a whole."

"I don't know much about geometry, but I rather think that it was not _conjugal_ angles he was talking about," Sherry said.

"Well, something like that, in any event," Hero said. "The point is that it doesn't matter how different they are, or how similar, when you put them together they are complete." For that was the answer to the question she had not been able to ask: regardless of their constituent parts, there could be no doubt in Hero's mind that Gil and Ferdy fitted together to make a single, perfect whole, just as she and Sherry did.

She had no leisure to reflect on this discovery, however, for Sherry was regarding her in a manner that she knew very well, though she had not seen that look on his countenance in some time. "I do not know what on earth you are talking about, but you should come here, Kitten," he told her, a warm, wicked glint in his eye, "for I wish to make a study of geometry—or, at least, of those conjugal angles of yours."

He pushed her back against the pillows then, but gently, and Hero let out a small shriek that was more laughter than anything else. Soon, though, her amusement gave way to silence as he kissed her yet again, much more seriously now, and she thought no more of geometry, or indeed of anything but herself and Sherry, together, as they always should be.

**Author's Note:**

> It is far more likely that an 18th Century classically inspired folly would be called the Temple of Diana rather than the Temple of Artemis but, as Ferdy might put it: Greek thing!


End file.
